


The Christmas Affair

by reona32



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, mention of Holodomor and WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9038168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reona32/pseuds/reona32
Summary: Napoleon and Illya's Christmas together is interrupted by a mission in Paris that ends with one of them injured. They miss the holiday but Napoleon still manages to give Illya an incredible gift.





	

“It’s called a what?”

 

“He is called Krampus.”

 

“And he kidnaps children?”

 

Illya added marshmallows to the mugs of hot cocoa he was preparing and picked them up. “He stuffs misbehaving children in a sack and throws them into the river to drown,” he explained as he came into the living room.

 

Napoleon looked up from where he was kneeling in front of the tree, carefully adding ornaments to the bottom branches. “That’s harsh, Illya. Santa Claus just gives bad children coal.” The blond handed him a mug. “Thank you.”

 

“Coal would have been useful and welcome when I was a child, Napoleon,” Illya replied with a slight smile. Napoleon looked a little sheepish and took a sip of his drink. Before them a pine tree stood tall and green, its branches thick with needles. Half of it glistened with glass baubles and colorful adornments. A fire crackled in the fireplace and the radio was playing an endless round of Christmas carols. Heavy snow fell beyond the windows, piling up on the terrace. Illya set his mug on the table and pulled open a box that had ‘X-mas’ scrawled messily on its side. He pulled out an elegant silver reindeer statue from the mountain of tissue paper. It had to be the tenth reindeer they had unveiled that evening. “Why do you have so many reindeer decorations?” Illya finally asked.

 

“My Mother had a love for Rudolph,” replied Napoleon, focused on getting a red cardinal to hang just right.

 

“Who?”

 

Napoleon looked up and grinned. “Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, of course.” Illya gave a slight shake of his head, showing he didn’t understand the reference. Napoleon hummed a few notes but Illya’s face remained blank. “Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose, and if you ever saw it, you would even say it glows.” Napoleon broke off his singing with a laugh at Illya’s horrified look.

 

“What is wrong with the poor animal?”

 

“Nothing, Illya. That’s the point of the story. Rudolph was born with a nose that glowed red, which the other normal looking reindeer ridiculed him for. At least until there was a Christmas Eve so foggy that Santa Claus needed him to light the path for the sleigh. Then he was a hero.”

 

“So he was ridiculed until the others suddenly had a use for him,” Illya deadpanned.

 

Napoleon sighed, a smile twitching the corners of his lips. “It’s a children's story. Keep your pragmatism away from it.”

 

“And all these reindeer decorations are because of this Rudolph character?”

 

“Yes. My Mother would add a few more every year. It got so bad that my Father declared his study a reindeer free zone and would hide in there for some reindeer decompression, as he called it. My _Mamie_ liked snowmen. The passive aggressive clandestine decorating during the holiday visits was legendary.”

 

“Clandestine decorating?” Illya asked, an eyebrow arching.

 

“I think they prided themselves on who could place their respective reindeer or snowman in the most inconspicuous locations. They would find them well into the spring, hidden in linen closets or drawers along with the Easter eggs,” Napoleon explained with a fond smile.

 

“It sounds like a happy childhood.”

 

Napoleon's smile wavered, although he knew Illya did not mean to bring the shadow of his wartime upbringing into the conversation. “Tell me a memory of yours, Illya. There must have been some happy times for you,” the brunet pleaded.

 

Illya blinked and then gave a gentle smile as he realized what Napoleon was thinking. “Of course there were happy times, Napasha. It is true that religious celebrations like Christmas were forbidden during my childhood but we did have New Year’s.”

 

Napoleon had abandoned his decorating, his attention fully on the blond. Illya so rarely talked about his childhood in Kiev that he did not want to miss a single detail. “New Year’s?” he echoed. In his experience as a child, New Year’s involved parties that he wasn't allowed to stay up for and champagne he wasn't allowed to drink.

 

Illya eyes grew distant, focusing on memories of long ago. “We lived in the city but my maternal grandparents still lived out in the country, on a farm. I remember we would take a bus out to their village and then walk almost an hour to their house. It was exhausting as a child but I never complained. I knew we were going to have New Year’s celebrations when we arrived.” He gave a small laugh. “New Year’s was completely secular but it had all the same trappings as Christmas. You would easily recognize it, Napasha. We even had a tree.” Illya gestured to the evergreen they were in the process of decorating.

 

Napoleon looked surprised. “You had a Christmas tree?”

 

“No. It's called a yolka and is a New Year’s tree. I remember in the morning, after breakfast, Papa and Dedka would hook up the sleigh to their horse and we would go out to cut down our tree.” He chuckled. “My Baba would wrap me up in so many layers, I could hardly move but I never felt cold.” Illya's eyes dimmed. “There was not much food but there was always something special for the New Year’s celebrations. Less every year, though. Then war put a stop to it all again.” His voice trailed off, quieter and quieter until he stopped speaking completely.

 

Napoleon crawled around the mounds of tissue paper and reindeer to slip his arms around the blond. Illya didn't cry but he did lean his head against Napoleon's shoulder and slid his own arms around the other man's waist. Napoleon stroked a hand down Illya's back, comforting him wordlessly. After a couple minutes in each others arms, Napoleon asked, “So, do you like reindeer or snowmen better?” Illya snorted. “Oh!” Napoleon said brightly, “Or do you like Santa Claus more?” Illya chuckled and sat up, smiling. “We could go after work to the shops tomorrow and buy a Santa Claus. We'll start our own collection.”

 

Illya nodded. “I'd like that.”

 

(***)

 

Fifteen hours later found Napoleon running through the narrow snowy streets of Paris, separated from his partner and fleeing from a group of THRUSH. “I jinxed us. I know I jinxed us,” muttered Napoleon as he bolted down an alley. A gunshot sounded and the stone above his head exploded into sharp fragments. Napoleon winced, skidding in the slush as he turned a corner.

 

In the distance, he could hear the sound of a crowd in the Christmas Market. A white glow glittered off the buildings from the lights. Napoleon turned again, heading deeper into the darkness and away from the throng of innocent people. Another gunshot broke a window behind him. “Surrender, Solo!” shouted one of his pursuers. Napoleon led them on a merry chase into the night, hoping his partner had enough time to make it to the Paris UNCLE office to pass off the files they had stolen from Doctor Motts' home; a scientist with strong THRUSH ties, they had discovered.

 

Pain burned through Napoleon's right arm, almost before the sound of the gunshot reached him. He stumbled and fell into a pile of snow with a cry. It took him a moment to gather his wits and then Napoleon was scrambling to his feet, his injured arm tucked against his chest. A kick to the side of his head sent him sprawling back into the cold snow. “Where are the files, Solo?” demanded a gruff voice. Fingers threaded through Napoleon's hair and wrenched his head back. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes as he blinked up at his attacker. The THRUSH goon shook him. “Where?” he shouted into Napoleon's face.

 

Napoleon kicked out and his foot connected with flesh. Much to his satisfaction, there was a yelp and his hair was released. This satisfaction was short lived as someone kicked his injured arm in retaliation. He gave a cry of pain, darkness swamping his vision. He could feel the warm blood running down his arm and fingers, dripping onto the snow. A gunshot sounded and Napoleon flinched but no answering pain appeared in his body. There was a scuffling above him and the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Napoleon blinked the world back into focus and looked up in time to see Illya send a neat right-cross at another man's face, who fell to the ground and lay still. Pivoting gracefully on his heel, the blond kicked high, his foot connecting hard with the head of the man behind him. The second THRUSH assailant went sailing into the snow. Just past Illya, Mark Slate struggled with a third man, only to have his partner, April Dancer, step out of the shadows and clobber the goon with the butt of her gun.

 

Napoleon sighed in relief and struggled to sit up. The snowy ground was cold. Illya appeared next to him, worry clouding his eyes, and grabbed Napoleon by the shoulders. “Don't move. You're bleeding,” he said, as if Napoleon wasn't completely aware of the fact.

 

“My arm,” Napoleon muttered as Illya shifted to support him. The brunet groaned as Illya prodded at his wound.

 

“You'll be alright,” Illya soothed.

 

“Yeah, guv,” Mark chimed in, “A quick trip to medical and you'll be good as new.”

 

“Oh, that's nice,” mumbled Napoleon before losing consciousness.

 

(***)

 

A 'quick trip to medical' turned into four days under medical care before the UNCLE doctors would release Napoleon. He developed a fever after his surgery to remove the bullet in his upper arm. It was only after his fever had broken that Napoleon was allowed to return home to convalesce. Unfortunately, this meant that Christmas had passed without him.

 

Napoleon was dreaming of an endless line of reindeer leaping across a snowy field when a light press of lips against his temple woke him. He grumbled, turning his head away. Kisses hopped down his cheek. “Go away. Let me sleep,” Napoleon whined into the pillow.

 

Illya chuckled, the bed dipping as he sat. “I have let you sleep. It’s nearly noon.” Napoleon pried one eye open. The windows glowed with sunlight trapped behind the curtains and Napoleon sighed. Illya stroked his hair back and leaned down to kiss his ear. Napoleon hummed and turned his head to meet the blond’s lips. Illya was always like this after Napoleon had been hurt, tender and demonstrative, at least for a couple days. Napoleon lifted his arms to wrap around the other man and had to break off the kiss with a hiss of pain. His arm ached from shoulder to fingertips. “As I thought. I brought you a pain pill,” Illya said smugly. He helped Napoleon sit up and handed him the little white pill and a glass of water. When Napoleon was finished with the liquid, Illya gently brushed his fingers over the purple and green bruise discoloring the side of the brunet’s face.

 

“Not a very happy Christmas, was it?” Napoleon lamented.

 

“You have had worse injuries,” disagreed Illya, “and we are together now. That is all I wish.”

 

Napoleon nodded but then his eyes lit up. “I just remembered! I have a surprise for you. Where is my suitcase?” Illya pointed over to the corner in confusion. “Can you get the bag from under my pants?” The blond did as asked, bringing a paper bag containing a white box back to the bed. Napoleon awkwardly pulled the box from the bag and handed it to his partner. “I hope they survived the trip intact. For you. Merry belated Christmas.”

 

“They?” asked Illya, pulling the box open. He brushed aside the tissue paper and went still.

 

Napoleon chewed his lip as Illya’s silence stretched out. “Illya? Are they not right? They’re not right, are they?” Napoleon sighed disappointingly. “The vendor at the Christmas Market told me they were typical Soviet figurines for the holidays. I suppose Grandfather Ice and Lady Snow aren’t even a real thing?”

 

“Grandfather Frost and his granddaughter, the Snow Maiden,” Illya corrected quietly. He lifted the male figurine out of the box. His long coat was colored white and blue while a carved bushy white beard hung from his chin. He held a tall staff topped with a snowflake. The female wore a white dress and long cloak hand-painted with delicate blue snowflakes. Her long yellow hair hung down her back and a silver crown sat on top of her head. “Ded Moroz and Snegurochka,” he muttered, gently touching a fingertip to the painted face of the Snow Maiden statue.

 

“You like them?” Napoleon asked. Illya carefully replaced the figurines in the box and set it on the nightstand before sliding one hand around Napoleon’s neck and pulling him into a thorough kiss.

 

“I love them,” Illya muttered, kissing along Napoleon's jaw.

 

“I'm glad.” Napoleon shivered as Illya's kisses traveled to the sensitive spot behind his ear. Without thinking, he tried to run his fingers through his lover's hair and winced as pain shot up his arm again.

 

Illya chuckled and pulled away. “Perhaps it would be better if we were intimate some other time.”

 

“Take all my fun away.”

 

Illya kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Why don't you get washed up and dressed while I make some pancakes?”

 

“I thought you said it was nearly noon?”

 

“What has that got to do with making pancakes?”

 

“Obviously nothing,” Napoleon replied with a chuckle.

 

“Go wash up. Wear the sling for your arm, please.”

 

“I don't need the sling.”

 

Illya scowled. “You are wearing the sling.”

 

“I'll just put the sling on now, shall I?”

 

“Good answer.”

 

************

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer first appeared in 1939, when an illustrated story booklet was given to holiday shoppers at Montgomery Ward. The popular song we still hear today was sung by Gene Autry in 1949. The stop-motion cartoon was aired in 1964.

 


End file.
